Nightmare on Elm Street-Lucid Dreaming
by SailorSaiyan93
Summary: Having to juggle school, work, and being the homemaker/caretaker of the household and a rambunctious little brother, Vanessa Vaughn indeed has some strain put on her. Yet when she is asked to make a new resident of the neighborhood feel welcome, she finds herself thrown into a world of literal nightmares. And as friends are dying, they must face the man of their dreams or die.
1. Prologue

**Note: This might look a bit familiar. In that, I did this story already. Let me explain,**

 **I had put up a Nightmare on Elm Street fic back in the beginning of 2014, yet let's just say some events happened to where everything in my life got flipped upside down thanks to some people I probably shouldn't have ever come into contact to. So, after all this time, I thought that maybe it'd be good to get back into doing this thing again. It'd certainly be one of my shorter fics, given that it has to sort of follow the franchise formula to an extent (that said, I'll be putting in some other things, such as research into Lucid Dreaming, various aspects of dreaming, as well as stages of sleep, etc.). And even more, it's something I kinda had figured out from the beginning, but this time, I've had time to go over what I had and tuned it up a bit better. That said, here's the prologue to start us off, introducing us to one of the main characters.**

 **Another new thing I'm trying out with this, seeing as it is based in the 80s, I kind of assigned 'actors' of sorts to the characters as I based their appearances off of them.**

 **Here's hoping you like it!**

* * *

 **Prologue: Perchance to Dream**

 **NoES and other related properties belong to NewLine/Warner Bros.**

 **August 14th, 1983**

"I'm proud of you."

She didn't say much more after that, mainly due to the fact that her dark brown eyes were still needed to focus on the road. But finally, they were on the right track.

Incidentally, it was her fault, she having mistaken 'Springfield' for 'Springwood', yet the issue wasn't helped in any way by the fact that the two sounded nearly identical. Even more, ironically enough, not unlike the younger man stationed in the car with her, the very location of Springwood was a fragment of her life she had been actively trying to either suppress or outright refuse to acknowledge. The fact she hadn't been in the area, hell, even the state of Ohio itself was more than just a little bit of a contributing factor as well, her most 'recent' time there being the late sixties.

'Sixty-eight…' she mused, her nose wrinkling as if detecting something foul. 'Need to change the fuel again.' Since then, she hated the smell. Since then, it had taken her years to even come to mildly tolerate it or anything that bore similarity to it. Even cooking oil was untouched for some time. 'Damn gasoline…makes me nauseous.'

She could've sworn that as they drew closer and closer, then smell only intensified.

But she refused to be deterred. This was something she had to do. Not for her sake, but for his. This was the key for him to truly move on. Maybe the key for both of them…

From the looks of it, however, the casual observer would've probably not thought twice about the pale blue, 1956 Chevrolet making its way through Lancaster, of which bore quite the remarkable resemblance to Springwood, nor the two individuals inside. In fact, if one were to get a good enough look at them, they would've potentially assumed that the two were simply mother and son, or perhaps even nephew and aunt. Maybe even distant cousins, or a friend of the younger man's mother.

Any and all of those assumptions, if they were ever made, couldn't have been further from the truth.

The younger man, while it wasn't out of the realm of possibility from looking at him, he was anything but the woman's son. He was an older Caucasian teen that bore a strong, defined (yet not overly so) chin and faint traces of stubble. His hair was thick, brown, and feathered, reaching down to the nape of his neck. It hadn't become one just yet, but given a little more time to grow and a few inches more, it would've been a full blown, Billy Ray Cyrus looking mullet. Hair length wasn't necessarily something he was overly concerned with, yet he wasn't sure he would've wanted it to be 'that' long. The darker color of his hair contrasted greatly with that of his light, blue eyes, they too also contrasting with his simple, black t-shirt and darkly colored jeans. And while it certainly wasn't his caregiver's intention he have them, he having acquired them before she even came to know him, both of the young man's ears were pierced with stainless steel studs.

Typical attire for a teenager of the time, perhaps, yet given whom was also in the vehicles with him, those that perhaps would've thought the two to be related somehow would've also probably wondered how, let alone why the woman would've allowed him to go out in such a way.

True, the middle-aged woman at the wheel was a far more conservatively dressed than her younger company, blonde, full hair tied in a draping, neat braid and brown eyes allowed better sight with a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, yet the truth of it was that, aside from the earrings, the way he dressed didn't matter. Yes, she had a pair of golden hoops in, yet while it was just something of the times, she couldn't deny that some things she felt simply looked more appropriate on a particular gender.

And while she was more conservative in her attire, the middle-aged blonde wasn't above going along with the popular trends that had begun to emerge in the beginning of the decade. While it was somewhat dressy, there was a hint of casualness in that instead of a blouse, she wore a simple chambray shirt of light blue fabric, a pair of beige trousers covering her lower half. Instead of heels, she wore simple, brown flats, her outfit somewhat caught in between proper and everyday wear. The younger man found it somewhat interesting, in that this was how she preferred to be. The blouses, pencil skirts, and heels (not to mention the ridiculous looking shoulder pads) she wore in her profession, all-serious and business-like, was a far cry from who she really was.

Especially given that she too had been bearing a good number of scars relating to that seemingly harmless, perfectly safe town.

And yet, early on in this trip, here she was congratulating him.

'I'm proud of you.'

Proud…pride…indeed, all things considered, he should've been. True, if not for the woman driving the car, bringing him to their destination, he didn't think he would've been able to do it, not on his own at least. He didn't believe he could've done it, and yet here she had said that she was proud of him.

'Proud…' he thought to himself, his blue eyes beginning to flutter. 'I don't know about that, Doc.' He didn't say such aloud, not daring to ever disrespect that woman. Still though, he had his doubts. 'It's more along the lines of acceptance. Accepting the inevitable.'

Though he quickly remembered what they were doing, where they were going, and quickly shoved those things out of his mind. There was no stopping it now, yes, yet it didn't matter anyway. It didn't matter…what had happened, why he had run in the first place, none of it mattered now.

None of it mattered…it couldn't, otherwise all he had been able to do so far would've been for nothing.

 **A Few Hours Later**

 **7:30 PM**

He couldn't continue for much longer.

They had traveled a good distance from the bustling Lancaster and had just passed by Zanesville, any sign of the civilization not being seen for miles. Indeed, it seemed that this would be their surroundings for another hour or so: untamed, lush greenery stationed by a single-lane road, the trees seeming to stretch out their branches to cover, dare he say, blanket the car in their shadows. The sun was nearly gone, only a sliver of the glowing, fiery star able to be seen over a faraway mountain, and the horizon above was bathed in pleasant, soothing tones and hues of soft yellows and pinks, darkened, thing clouds lazily easing by as the transition from dusk to evening officially began.

He would've thought it to be fitting and nearly perfect, if not for the fact that allowing his eyes to close had been the very thing he was trying to prevent.

The young man needed some sort of distraction, no matter how large or small. Something, anything to focus on, lest he lose the ongoing battle right then and there. He looked up, blue eyes attempting to find something, anything to at the very least momentarily distract him, lest he go back into that cycle again. Lest he fall asleep…

Then, as if answering his pleas, his prayers even, from overhead; he managed to catch a sign. Literally.

'Ohio Welcomes You!'

Now, it wasn't that particular sign, the one he had spotted simply being one listing how much longer it would've taken for them to reach Newark, yet the alert they were inching nearer and nearer to their destination served to further remind the youth of how long it had truly been since he had been in that small, unsuspecting and seemingly picturesque town. Better yet, it reminded him of how long it had been since he had set one foot in the state of Ohio to begin with.

The sign that welcomed those entering the Buckeye State had seemingly reserved itself a permanent spot in the young man's memory, being one of the two prominent 'landmarks' of sorts he linked with his time in Springwood, as well as his rushed and, in retrospect, poorly executed escape.

'Two years.' He mused, resting his arm on the elbow rest, the plush material not helping his drowsiness one bit. 'Two whole years…'

Two whole years since he had actually made his desperate run out of the suburb, that soon evolving into a desperate run out of Ohio altogether, that in turn only successful due to long periods of standing on the side of the road and signaling until someone actually bothered to stop. And by the time he had passed the 'Welcome to Ohio' sign, he came to realize that, to his dismay, his urgency to escape perhaps skewed his judgment. Mainly due to the fact that the entirety of the Simon Kenton Bridge was an obstacle he failed to account for, and while he wasn't terrible, he sure as hell wasn't a good enough swimmer to make it across the Ohio River below.

To think that throughout that entire ordeal, he had been attempting to outright avoid the authorities, yet if not for said authorities spotting him near the bridge; perhaps he wouldn't have been able to even come to know the woman by his side, let alone actually come to the point where he would ever actually be willing to go to Springwood ever again.

It was funny, to a degree, that with as much time as it took for him to even call it his 'home', it certainly didn't take long for him to already begin to miss it. Seat of Manson County, they called it, yet it could've been anywhere outside of where he had come from, and it still would've been difficult to familiarize himself with it, let alone leave it all behind. The history didn't matter to him, let alone the location. He could've ended up anywhere and he would've been content.

Just as long as it was away from where he had come from.

Yet all of that was left behind too, all thanks to her. That sort of desire to flee, desire to run like some scared, terrified little prey from some unseen predator wasn't a part of him anymore. The good Doctor next to him had seen to that.

What he had come from was all behind him now, yet he didn't want to fall asleep. Not yet…

"You're tired, Robert." The driver's smooth voice told him, the statement obvious, yet the gentle, dare he say, motherly tone that emanated throughout it was nearly enough to make him forsake his battle to keep conscious. "And it's still going to be quite a bit before we get there."

"How…" Robert paused, nearly about to release a yawn, yet he kept his mouth shut, his face in turn scrunching up and his eyes growing moist. "How much longer, Doc?"

"Around another hour or so." The older woman answered. "And you stayed up all night packing, so a bit of shut-eye would probably be just what you need."

"That's not exactly 'quite a bit'." The young man in her care answered, he still putting up a fight, yet both knew that it was one he'd eventually lose.

But he couldn't sleep. Not yet. Not until he saw the sign. Then and only then, would he be certain.

Not until he saw the…

 **Few Moments Later**

The sound of his light snore made Lucille Quinn sigh in relief. Finally, at long last, he was asleep. While she had hoped that he would've perhaps drifted off while she was turning out of Columbus during her mixing up of Springfield and Springwood, though given with how many hours the young man stayed up during the night, even after all this time, perhaps this was just what he needed.

Speaking of which, it steadily becoming more obvious as the blonde, middle-aged woman was forced to release a long, drawn out yawn, perhaps that was just what she needed as well. But for now, she'd simply stick with taking sips of the caffeine riddled Dr. Pepper stationed in the cup holder next to her.

'We don't have to, you know.' The therapist bit her lip hard, her chest beginning to ache. 'There are plenty of places here we can go.' Granted, the fact the real estate was near ideal was more than a contributing factor, as well as the fact that she had already been considering making such a step for some time. She had good enough connections there, Evelyn outright telling her that as soon as she could, she'd put in her application and have her transferred on over. 'I don't want to pressure you into doing something you don't want to do, Robby.'

She made that clear, she was sure of it. Yet even with his insistence that his decision was his own, Lucille couldn't help but wonder whether or not those few factors contributed to his agreement in their moving. Perhaps that was why she had actually found herself panged with a sense of guilt at the prospect of how the change would actually be beneficial for herself as well. Beneficial, yes, though in ways that had nothing to do with real estate or a secure job holding.

'Two years…' she thought. 'It's been two years for you…' her intention wasn't to minimize his pain relating to the small town. Far from it. In fact, there was probably no one else present in his life that could've perhaps related more to his situation at that moment. 'You're braver than me in that.' She silently admitted, her flat pressing down on the gas pedal, propelling the Chevrolet ever more forward, as if challenging the tightening dread that began to develop in her gut. 'I meant it, when I said that I'm proud of you. You're willing to go back after just two years. Just two…with me, I didn't even think of it, and it's been around fifteen.'

 **Few Moments Later**

Robby silently cursed himself for allowing himself to slip up, allowing the Doctor's smooth voice continue to speak to him, lull him into his still, serene unconsciousness, he only beginning to realize his error when he found himself steadily coming to.

Still, he blamed himself, for it was his own fault that he had let his guard down. Blaming her would never cross his mind, not ever. If it weren't for Dr. Quinn and all she had done, then frankly, he'd probably be little more than some bum hiding underneath the very bridge he was detained at. Yes, her line of work had (despite his insistence she wasn't) been the main factor in him agreeing to make the move, yet the young man would've been lying if he said the prospect of it came as a surprise.

No, Robby had known this, outright counting on it. Hell, the moment he had outright decided to dump whatever was stuffed in his backpack and take off with the few pairs of clothes and necessities he remembered to take in his adrenaline fueled dash out of that place, out of that damned town. Eventually, whether he wanted it or not, and he truly didn't, somehow, in some way, he'd be heading back to Springwood.

Yet…so what?

Indeed, so what if the teen would eventually be sent back to that town? Yes, what had happened there was confirmed, he should know as he more than remembered their bodies. And yes, he also remembered well whose bodies he found that forced him to escape while he could.

'Yeah. Escape like a coward. Leaving everyone else to deal with…'

No, he wouldn't do it. He outright REFUSED. Even if what had caused him to flee beforehand was more than real enough, that didn't mean 'he' was real. No, Robby, he and Dr. Quinn, they went over this. He was real, technically, but he wasn't…

Wait…was that? No. No, it couldn't be. No, no, no!

"NO!"

 **Few Moments Later**

If it wasn't for the fact that there were no other vehicles driving alongside them, Quinn was certain that she would've headed right into either another car or one of the several trees surrounding her. Or more ironically, right into the sign that was welcoming them to the very town they had been seeking.

Luckily, being that there was no one else around, the blonde woman was able to react in a far more lenient time frame, straightening herself up and positioning the Chevrolet in its proper place on the road.

And while he had been the cause of the very near loss of control, the young man's sudden, completely unexpected reaction also drew more than its fair share of concern from the good doctor.

"Robby? Robby!" Lucille questioned, one hand gripping onto his shoulder and shaking lightly. If he was simply reacting to a bad dream he was having…well, frankly, in any other scenario, which would've just been nothing more than a run down of the usual procedure in dealing with these things. That said, of all times for such a thing to occur, right now and especially in this location, was far from ideal for the older teen's recovery. "Robby!"

He wished to answer, he truly did, yet what his eyes managed to capture had sent him into a state where the only thing coming out of his mouth were the quickly paced huffs of oxygen leaving his throat, the cycle of fast-paced inhaling and exhaling seemingly the only two actions his body was allowing at the moment.

Despite seeing this, Lucille couldn't help herself. "What's wrong?" she asked, though her answer came a good while afterward.

Finally able to collect himself, despite his shame and embarrassment at such a display, Robby forced himself to speak. "Y-Yeah. Sorry about that."

The middle-aged woman shook her head. "No, no, it's fine." She then gestured to their surroundings, it still being the same, quiet road as before. "See? It's fine."

He wouldn't have exactly called nearly swerving off into a ditch or into some tree fine, though, as much as the thought disgusted him, maybe that outcome would've been a saving grace for both of them. Then again, it'd probably only be delaying the inevitable.

"Bad dream again?" Robby then realized his guardian was talking to him again, he in turn nodding in response. God, it was nothing short of a complete embarrassment, being reduced to little more than some jumpy, frightened little child.

And while he had nodded 'yes', it didn't take long for him to begin retracting said action. "Well," he began. "It wasn't just…" and he was already failing at better explaining himself. Wonderful.

"Wasn't just what?"

How the hell was he going to explain this? He had begun to come out of sleep when they reached it, when he had seen it, yet was he just dreaming then? It was a possibility, yet he was pretty certain that he at least 'felt' awake. Not to mention, they were outside of the town's borders, so…it couldn't have been what he thought.

No, of course not. He…he was just mistaken was all. That was all, nothing more.

Still, even with that, he could see that the older woman was awaiting an answer. How she was so good at being able to extract things from him still managed to both surprise and somewhat frustrate the older teen. "I guess…I guess it's just that, it's still sort of sinking in for me." It wasn't as if Robby was lying. Being somewhat evasive, yes, but he wasn't being dishonest. Besides, acknowledging it, what he had 'thought' he had seen, would just end up making it worse.

It wasn't as if it was real…as if 'he' was real. No, he wasn't real…nor was he still here.

Thankfully for him, the blonde woman seemed to accept this answer, if not mainly for the fact that she could more than empathize. "I am proud of you, Robby." She assured him. "Really, I mean that. I know I probably wouldn't be able to make a transition like this in so short a time."

The young man found her statement both somewhat encouraging, yet also a bit odd. The former, to a degree, in the sense that this move to Springwood was something he hadn't in his wildest dreams (even if the act of dreaming was now tainted in his mind) considered, and the fact he was here, doing it right now, brought forth some sense of accomplishment for him. He was actually going through with this; he was decreasing the fear's hold over him.

The latter, however, confused him to a degree. If not for the fact that his guardian, a licensed psychologist, was admitting to him that she couldn't probably go through with something like this on her own. Granted, it wasn't as if Robby thought of Dr. Quinn any less (God forbid) because of it, she being one of the few he could openly share what he had experienced with her. And while she wasn't entirely receptive of all of it, as it did sound crazy (and perhaps, he thought, it was), she was more than understanding of the reason he wished to avoid this place for so long. Still, even with all the conversing and sessions, the coping mechanisms, she hadn't mentioned once about actually conquering his fear outright. Almost as if, she too, perhaps in some way, knew that perhaps who he attributed to his decision to leave was more than just a product of mass hysteria and false identity.

But then again, that was just it: mass hysteria and false identity. He had seen the obituaries and the articles from the newspapers Dr. Quinn had taken with her. There was no feasible way that it could've been 'him' that he had seen. Yes, Robby knew well what he had seen, what he had dreamed, but from what he had come to know of dreams and the mind, even a small amount of stress could conjure up a variety of horrifying images and scenarios.

But he knew better now. He knew how to better control himself, control his mind. How to better prepare and protect himself…just in case.

When he had woken up from his drowsy stupor, he perhaps did see a collection of gnarled, gangly branches loom over the sign that depicted a mother, son, and daughter that welcomed all coming that way to Springwood, yet those branches were just that: branches. They didn't look anything like a thin, boney hand with elongated, sharpened claws sliding across the sign's edges.

And they certainly didn't appear to be lightly dipping in the breeze, waving, welcoming the two of them back.

* * *

It couldn't have been helped, and their shared sentiments towards the area were more than understandable. And if one were both willing and courageous enough to try and pry further, they would've perhaps found the very act of even coming, let alone moving here of all things to be the purest example of a miracle. Yet to those outside of the Chevrolet, or better yet, even outside of the general town area, this small, seemingly quaint town appeared to be, on the surface at least, a rather unfitting source for Robert and Lucille's current anxieties. And even more so, though Robert perhaps would've preferred that it stay that way, it would also be unlikely that anything aside from plastered on, obligatory smiles and the cries of 'Hello!' would be thrown their way for a small period of time. At the very least until everything was set in place.

Springwood Ohio was a town that, despite it clearly being marked and labeled on any given map of the state, was quite easy to miss if one didn't know what to look for, and even that needed a keen eye. This wasn't to say that there was nothing that could be distinguished, as the town in itself had a small number of landmarks of its own, yet if one were to want to search for it, it seemed that very few major highways lead to it, and even more, the few that came close only went as far as that. That paths to Springwood seemed to almost perfectly reflect the state of the area itself: isolated and almost impossible to reach.

Somewhat odd, yes, yet one would also have to consider that around the country, there were several other, even smaller towns with populations that were just a couple hundred or so above being considered villages, the peculiarity regarding Springwood's location and many detours it took to get there had been somewhat diminished. And unlike some of those other locations, at least for the most part, it had promised what it had advertised on the sign welcoming newcomers in its vicinity.

With a population of around fifteen to sixteen thousand (at the moment, being around fifteen-thousand and two-hundred six-five), Springwood was a modestly sized and well-kept town with a moderately successful economy that, as the sign promised and what many of its residents could agree, was a 'great place to live'. And frankly, for the bevy of families or childless couples that had either wished to move somewhere quiet and peaceful with a low crime rate and close accessibility to food, entertainment, or even both at once, Springwood seemed to provide that in spades. Reliable (and local) grocery stores, several eateries and restaurants (particularly a diner by the name of Crave Inn), all of which held both long histories and standings in the town provided for the former, whilst the latter had a good selection of its own as well. True, there wasn't an extremely abundant amount, yet Springwood seemed to have just enough to provide both entertainment and extra-curricular activities to both have its younger residents less inclined to look into other more lewd, harmful options to pass time, as well as their working parents more opportunities to have them out of the house without the cost of worrying over what they were doing and/or who they could've been with. Not to say that such things were impossible, as it seemed to be an accepted fact of life that such things couldn't be eradicated from any community, no matter how upright and pristine it was, yet so far, no one had been brazen or foolish enough to try and sneak something like weed in the Pool Center or the High School.

Indeed, from the initial perspective of a passerby or one who had decided to wish to be added to the collective population, Springwood did seem to live up to its declaration quite well. Though, if one were to question either Lucille or Robert on such a thing, their answer would rather declare the luxuries available as simple distractions from some of the town's less desirable qualities.

For all of its more beloved establishments, a good ways off to the side and almost impossible to miss thanks to the colossal tower that housed the community's equally less desirable members, stood what could've been argued as the one of the two black spots on what would've otherwise been a completely spotless record for excellence. Despite its name and claim that it was put in place to assist the mentally unwell and even more, hopefully aid them in achieving the lives they held before being committed, Westin Hills Clinic and Asylum wasn't exactly known for having a plethora of success stories. If anything, and Robert himself held such sentiments as well, that even a momentary commitment to the supposed place instituted for the healing of the mind almost always guaranteed that aside from the small streams that came through the window's panes, one would never be able to see the sun outside of the building's walls again. In fact, albeit in more recent years, talk of the patients being sent there increasing and the age range gradually getting younger and younger had come to be one of the most widespread and popular of rumors spread throughout the town, particularly amongst gossiping high-schoolers.

And whilst any and all adult authority stated that such things being said about the place, such as how it once housed one-hundred maniacs in the clinic's tower, or how supposedly a young nun was unfortunately raped and sodomized by each and every one of them in the forties and later committed suicide upon giving birth to her 'bastard child', were nothing more than just overly graphic ghost stories, there were those that weren't so sure. And those that actually knew the truth, both what had indeed transpired there and what was currently going on behind the clinic's walls were either never believed or had their words silenced.

The second 'spot', and nowadays, the even more scandalous and taboo topic of those delving into Springwood's secrets was that of the horrific string of child murders that transpired in the mid to late sixties. This was a story that both Robert and Dr. Quinn were more than aware of, this particular subject being quite the prolific topic in the young man's reasoning to his previous escape from the small town in the first place. Yet the good doctor had assisted him much in this, allowing him to see that his paranoia relating to this place was, while not irrational and perfectly understandable, ultimately misplaced. Yes, it had taken a good number of months, if not an entire year and a half to convince him of such, yet the psychologist didn't need to solely rely on newspaper clippings and obituaries for that. Sometimes, as it is said, experience is the best teacher. And while she couldn't exactly say that she had helped in any way…she was more than a complacent witness to the act. And since then, it would've been years since she could stand the smell of gasoline without feeling the urge to vomit, even cooking oil sometimes bringing the sensation of bile creeping up her throat.

But she was better now. All of that was fifteen years away, and there was no reason that she should live in fear and dread over a threat that had long since been taken care of. And yes, while Robert's claims of what he had seen were indeed true, the deaths of those he claimed to have seen killed being confirmed, there was no feasible way that the one responsible was who he claimed it to be. True, those select few he mentioned were indeed dead, yet given the reports that were occurring at the time, along with a similar case involving Lt. Thompson's daughter claiming that the same figure had been responsible for the fatal mauling of her close friend, Tina Gray, it didn't take Lucille long to develop a theory or two on why all this was going on.

After all, the poor girl ended up being sent off to a psychiatric clinic outside of town and as of recently, and aside from the Lt.'s wife burning to death, no such reports of grisly murders had come for a good while. If Lucille didn't know any better, it seemed as if it were fate that was drawing both her and her charge back to this little, secluded, nearly picturesque town. As if it were inviting them to be able to not only confront, but also bury all the sick depravity and disgusting acts of cruelty and violence they had seen and start anew. After all, what was there to truly fear? The one true, main blight of the community had been dealt with, and with no other occurrences having happened over the two-year period since the case with the Lt's family, as well as Robert's, perhaps it was truly time for both of them.

Robert had hoped for such as well, No, hope had not been good enough. He had practically begged and prayed for it since their departure had been decided. And thanks to Dr. Quinn, he had been able to mostly get to such a place of calm. Mostly. It was probably simply due to the time spent away from the town, not to mention the sights all around that brought back so much for him, both good and bad, yet still, Robert couldn't shake the nagging doubt that this was an enormous mistake.

Then again, his emotions weren't exactly a reliable source, as for a good while, he believed that despite him trekking his way to Kentucky's border, he would still be killed in the night the moment he closed his eyes. It was as Dr. Quinn told him, there was nothing to fear but fear itself.

Nothing to fear but fear…itself.

Nothing to fear but fear…himself.

* * *

 **Note: Most of the info I got was from the Nightmare Wiki, so if there are any details wrong, let me know please.**

 **Originally, this was much shorter, and the little briefing on Springwood was going to go into the next chapter, yet upon looking over it again, I found that it fit better here. Besides, given that for Robby and Dr. Quinn, this is supposed to be something of a 'fresh start' (and kind of a little bit of info for newcomers along with callbacks for old), I think it's more fitting that the next chapter begin with that 'start' beginning, in the form of a new school year starting.**

 **As for the actors I based off of, I'm seeing Robert as, ironically enough, Rob Lowe, more specifically, his appearance in St. Elmo's Fire. And Dr. Lucille Quinn off of Faye Dunaway, as it seemed like every one of the 80s movies (big name ones at least) had one veteran actor/actress in them. And while I don't want to declare this thing as any sort of masterpiece yet, hopefully in that, if this WAS a movie, it'd be at least halfway better than Supergirl.**

 **If you enjoyed this little peek, tune in next time for the introduction of the second main protagonist and her role in this soon to be onslaught of carnage.**

 **Read and Review, please! Thank you!**


	2. Chapter 1

**Note: Hey guys, next chapter here! Good news, got a laptop for Christmas, so maybe writing will be quicker due to how it's working way faster than the main computer. Granted, I don't want to clog it up with programs, so I'm still using the main one for the time being for most things for now. Anyway, here's the official 'Chapter 1' of this little diatribe, and I hope you guys enjoy!**

 **Chapter 1: Beginning of the End**

 **NoES © of New Line/Warner Bros.**

 **A Few Weeks Later**

The small beam of sunlight had managed to peek through the slightly parted curtains of the room, its potent, yet still comfortable heat centering itself on the apricot colored skin of the twin bed's occupant. It was by no means painful, yet it was enough of a disturbance to where she'd take notice, and take notice she did. Slowly at first, as such was the pattern with all mornings (summer vacation having not helped curb this a bit), yet ultimately, her eyelids fluttered open and with a long, drawn out moan, released and worked out any pent-up tension on her now awakened form.

Hm, that was odd. From what she could tell, chocolate brown eyes still adjusting to the intrusive beam of light, it was early morning, but her alarm hadn't gone off yet. If that were the case, maybe she'd have enough time to get in a couple more minutes-

 **BEEP! BEEP!**

'And that's when you go off.' She huffed to herself. 'Of COURSE, you do.'

It was then, as the beeping assaulted her recently awakened sense of hearing, she was beginning to regret that simply slamming one's fist atop of the damned thing was enough to stop its incessant, shrill telltale alarm. Granted, she had tried to do so when she had first gotten the small device around her twelfth birthday, yet that foolish action only proved that if one wished to potentially leave a nasty bruise on their hand, that was the way to do it. Besides, given it also served as her radio, the last thing she'd want to do was potentially destroy it.

Reaching over, a small period of fumbling notwithstanding, she eventually succeeded in flipping the switch off, fingers turning to the dial atop of the black device until she was greeted with the overly joyful voice of an announcer proclaiming to all of Springfield a 'GOOOOOD MORING!'

Shifting out of her twin-sized bed of white sheets with a blue comforter lined with red folded up at the edge. Given how long she had been in possession of said comforter, not to mention what age she had gotten it at (a far earlier period than her clock/radio), she was grateful that it wasn't plastered with cartoon characters. Imagine, someone her age, her family's income aside, sleeping in something like Strawberry Shortcake or Care Bears. A light chuckle escaped her throat at this thought, the small bit of space where the sun's light had crept through soon evolving into an entire wave that lit up the entire room as she thrust open the plain, white curtains, allowing view into the streets below.

And if anyone was looking, not that they would have any business to, one could also see the young woman inhabiting the small room stationed on the second floor. She wasn't anything spectacular or grand, especially in this early hour, yet her form presented an average height and weight, not overly skinny, yet having just enough meat on her bones. Her eyes were deep and brown, the subdued color greatly contrasting with arguably the most notable feature about her. Though one could tell with or without the sun's help, the light certainly enhanced its color, her entire head seemingly awash in a bright, vibrant orange, though only her head as her hair reached down no further than her chin.

Thankfully for her, the window was just small enough to where her upper half was the only thing visible, as given the heat of summer; she had taken to going to bed without any pants. Though with that said, said upper half was currently without a certain support for her bosom, though given (to her dismay) her 'assets' were more on the smaller side, the enlarged shirt she wore seemed to nearly conceal them entirely from view. And speaking of said shirt, the young, red haired woman decided that she had better start closet digging before it was too late.

It took little time for her to find something that she could somewhat agree on wearing, collect it in a small stack, and carry it off to the upstairs bathroom. It was something of a way she got things done on mornings: wake up, gather clothes for the day, bring it all to the bathroom. So far, it had done its job, as by the time she was through rinsing her mouth out of toothpaste and mouthwash, she would be prepared by the time she exited.

Her attire consisted of a simple, red flannel shirt with short sleeves over a grey tank top underneath, jean capris, and black and white trainers with short socks. A headband of white was situated atop of her fiery hair, and in her ears rested two plain, silver studs.

It was when she had finished observing herself in the mirror for any flaws she missed (not that it'd do much good considering her wardrobe wasn't exactly full of variety) that she took notice of the small note left on the bathroom counter, situated in the most far left corner. Upon seeing whom it was from, as well as its message, the young woman couldn't help but chuckle and roll her eyes.

'Vanessa, make sure Michael does his homework TONIGHT! ~Love Dad'

He had left her a reminder, yet had forgotten to place it somewhere she'd obviously see it. Despite this, she expected no less from her father, of who was long gone by the time she had even woken up.

Woken up…oh no! She immediately darted out of the bathroom, note in hand, and down the hall. How could she have forgotten?! She had gone and gotten herself all prepped up and ready, yet she guaranteed that she'd find her brother still snoozing away the moment she reached his room!

"Hey, what are-OW!"

Then again, her assumptions couldn't have been off.

Before her, on the floor and massaging his temple in pain, sat a young, adolescent boy with a full head of brunette hair and brown eyes and garbed in a simple, blue t-shirt and beige shorts, a simple backpack that had quite a few stitches on it due to its age and worn material on his back.

"Well," Vanessa began, clearly embarrassed, yet still attempting to hold onto to some of her pride, even if there wasn't much of it left. "I guess I don't have to worry about you getting up on time."

"No shit," the younger boy groaned. "I'm not a baby."

"Hey!" Vanessa immediately declared, holding her finger up in a scolding manner. "No swearing!"

"Dad's not here." He retorted. "Besides, I'm pretty sure that was you I heard when someone happened to burn themselves frying up some bologna last week."

She begun to answer back, yet the younger boy immediately rushed right past her the moment he got to his feet, darting right for the kitchen located in between both of their rooms on the upper floor. If not for the fact that he had just outmaneuvered her giving him a small lecture about his language, she would've nearly had respect for the pre-teen.

Nearly.

"Dad's the one that cares, Mikey." Vanessa told him as she too entered the small space that they called a kitchen, having to maneuver around her younger brother so that she wouldn't bump into him in getting a glass of orange juice (of which she had to be equally careful in getting the glass). "Besides, I've got five years on you, so by default, I outrank you."

Michael in turn didn't respond to her aside from sticking his tongue out, having gotten his bowl of Corn Flakes and was now making his way over to the sugar.

"Not too much." Vanessa suddenly stated, pausing a moment to swallow some of her orange juice, the strong flavor of citrus immediately dispelling any semblance of drowsiness from her. "We're low, and Dad doesn't get paid until Friday."  
"But you can't have Corn Flakes without sugar!" Michael protested. "I won't use too much! I promise!"

"Fine." His older sister told him, much to the younger boy's surprise. "I'll just watch." He scowled at this, though ultimately, he should've known better. It was too good to be true anyway. So ultimately, as meticulously as he could (that wasn't with much success), Michael poured a flurry of little crystals in the bowl of cereal, all under the watchful eyes of his sister.

While Vanessa was mentally kicking herself for not remembering the several spoons still ready for use to simply scoop out the sugar, from what she could see, the younger boy had managed to restrain himself. She was about to get a spoon herself for such a thing, yet ultimately decided against it. Michael was more than correct in unable to truly enjoy Corn Flakes without sugar, yet here she had lectured him while she in turn would be doing the same thing? It just didn't 'feel' fair. Ridiculous as it was, she couldn't help but obey the inclination to put the sugar back where it originally sat.

That was fine though. Besides, if sugar were needed to truly enjoy Corn Flakes, she'd simply have something else, opening the pantry and looking over the boxes of cereal available. 'Looks like another trip to the grocery is coming soon.' The red head mentally noted, having decided on a box of Kix and removing it from the shelf.

After a moment or two of pouring the cereal and in turn, pouring in just enough milk (that too was running low, she found out), Vanessa had made her way to the small and rather old, round dining table stationed outside of the kitchen and sat down, Michael having nearly devoured the entirety of his Corn Flakes.

At last, finally she could have a moment. True, she would have to keep it brief, yet at least she had time to sit and talk with her younger sibling before he began yet another year of school. And while it was probably something he was far from looking forward to (she could more than relate to a degree), Vanessa still found it her obligation to at least go over the ground rules in making sure to pay attention, take notes for what he needed so she could maybe pick them up later, etc. Simple, if not completely obvious things, but still, they were nonetheless important. Especially given that aside from her, there wasn't really anyone else to fill that role.

Anymore.

Of course, only one word exited her mouth the moment her brown eyes fell on the antique cuckoo clock hanging on the wall. As well as becoming aware that despite her being dressed and ready, she had forgotten to even pack her bag in her rush to make sure Michael had gotten up.

"Damn!" Vanessa immediately rose from the table and practically sprinted back to her room, her ears catching her brother's own lecturing voice from afar.  
"Hey! No swearing!"

"Smartass!"

He couldn't help himself, letting himself laugh to the point where if he hadn't stopped himself, the milk dissolving what little of his Corn Flakes were left would've come pouring right through his nostrils. While Vanessa had earlier reprimanded him for his mouth, Michael knew well that she didn't really care. Hell, if anything, he had heard her release a flurry of curses left and right at times, even going as far to invoke the dreaded 'f-word' a couple of times. Yet given that it was something Dad had told her to be on top of him for, it was simply something she had to do. He didn't entirely get it, she not really caring, but still telling him not to do it. Must've just been something an older sibling had to do in being the example.

Or a parent-

"You lucked out this time." He heard her call out before rushing back into the kitchen, thankful for the interruption. He didn't want to think about finishing that thought. "Dad left me a note, so if either me or him get a note from Mrs. Myers about you not turning in your homework- "

"Homework?" even more so that something so jarring was able to distract him even further. "They don't give homework out on the first day!"

"Maybe not." Vanessa answered, pausing a moment to hoist her backpack over her shoulders. "But they're going to give it sometime this week or next, and me and Dad expect it to be done AND turned in on time."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." The young boy simply groaned. Maybe this wasn't the best thing to distract him after all, begging to mutter curses and insults about the haggard fossil known as Mrs. Myers. "She'd actually make it easy to understand, I wouldn't have to copy off of- "

"What was that?"

"Nothing!"

Bullshit it was nothing. Now though, the older teen simply resigned to putting it off for later. Otherwise she was going to be the one missing her ride! "Okay, gotta go, kiddo." She told the younger boy, going over to the table once again to plant a small peck on his smooth cheek.

"Ew!" Michael proclaimed, fact contorting in disgust, even if most of it was him just exaggerating. "You know I hate it when you do that!"

"And that's the beauty of it." Vanessa simply answered, leaving the table and heading down the stairs. "Bye! Love you, stay out of trouble!"

It was when she had made her exit that she began to regret not bringing some sort of light jacket out. While yes, it was still Summer, there was always something about mornings that produced some sort of inexplicable chill in the air that never failed to make the red head shiver.

Well, nothing like a little morning exercise to get the blood running.

Making her way to the side of the simple estate, the older teen rolled out and soon sat herself upon the seat of an old, worn down bike. A Riverdell Atlantis Touring Bike to be exact. She would know, given it was the very one she had been saving up for all those months ago, all those years ago. Where it stood in the window of a shop near her apartment, where her far younger, far wider brown eyes gazed upon it as if it were the most beautiful mark of craftsmanship she had the privilege of gazing upon in her then short life.

It'd sort of figure that in her awe-filled stupor, that she would've missed the little detail of it clearly being to big for her at the age of ten.

Ironic that it was now a bit too small and its age was becoming more and more evident by all who saw it riding past. Nevertheless, in some small way, to Vanessa at least, it was still the same bike she had longed for at that tender, youthful age. Especially given that it was one of the few reminders of her previous life that till remained. The previous life…with 'her'.

Shaking her head, she began pedaling forward, she beginning to ride down the street of Larix Path, her street, momentarily taking a glance or two at the row of small, nearly identical estates lined up next to one another. Estates might've been a little generous of a term, as given her father's (and her own to an extent) line of work, this area of the neighborhood was the most 'luxurious' they could settle into.

Yet it wasn't as if their own home was an absolute wreck, Vanessa considered it to be one of, if not the best looking of the town houses lining the street.

Of course, perhaps this mainly came from the fact that given the rent was so cheap, they attracted several less than desirable individuals, one example being the nice little couple of college kids that had up and began making a meth lab in the second-floor bathroom. Of course, given that said event happened right when she and her father and brother had come to Springwood, she didn't hear about it until she was, in her father's eyes, 'old enough to understand'.

'It wasn't like that was the reason the police came.' Vanessa mused, passing the subject in question, still retaining a lot of its same, rugged appearance. Indeed, while the police had come, it wasn't for the 'lab' in question, which, from what little she heard, was just a collection of chemicals and spoons, the idiots clearly having no idea what they were doing. Though given they were indeed doing something quite illegal and unsightly in the small town, they attempted to destroy the evidence by setting said lab/bathroom on fire, which brought the fire department and police, as well as concerns of a potential arsonist going around.

It was soon found that wasn't the case, yet even still, Vanessa found that event, even if she could remember very little of it, let alone what those two-people looked like, one of those memories she couldn't banish even if she wanted to. Maybe because it had occurred when she was so young, no older than ten, and the scene of seeing the upstairs' windows glowing and wild, untamed flames dancing behind the glass so unexpectedly terrifying yet intriguing. Or maybe because, after that, the two college kids had suddenly just up and 'moved out'.

Moved out, that's what her dear old Dad had told her, after the fires were put out and evidence of them cooking up meth was found, yet even at that immature age, Vanessa didn't entirely buy it. It was a possibility, sure, as she didn't seem them leave or exit, yet if they had left town to get away from the authorities, then why was their beat-up car still sitting in the parking lot for a few more weeks before it was towed out?

Regardless, this event, while somewhat jarring and shocking to the community here, was ultimately forgotten about in the couple of days after it happened, Vanessa believing that them getting rid of their vehicle the ultimate step in sweeping the entire thing under the rug. After all, in this part of the neighborhood, the sticks, the 'armpit' as some would say, such things were probably expected. Not that the crime rate was high in Springwood, it sometimes being something that was outright forgotten or not even mentioned (or kept under wraps), yet if it were to happen somewhere, it'd either be in some back-alley downtown or here where everyone that didn't fit into the 'yuppie' crowd resided.

She was beginning to pass by faster now, if not for the fact that she had realized how much time she was wasting simply looking. Besides, if she were ever going to catch the bus by now, she'd have to practically sprint all the way there.

Luckily for the redhead, Larix Path was one of the shorter streets of the neighborhood, Vanessa reaching the fork in the road that lead to either Rosewood Lane or Pine Avenue, going for the former to the left. Granted, it presented her with a bit of a hill to climb, yet whether it be due to her getting older or the process of going over said hill gradually becoming less of a chore, it took her less and less time over the years to conquer it. And conquer it she did, taking a left and going down Hawthorne Road before taking another right until she reached what she had marked as the 'halfway' point during the regular journey to school.

More than a little grateful she could give her legs a bit of a rest, Vanessa allowed herself to relax, her mad pedaling steadily slowing into a casual ride down what could've been labeled as the heart of the small neighborhood: Elm Street.

While the area wasn't one Vanessa herself was overly familiar with, it mainly serving as her destination to be picked up and delivered from school, over the last year or two, this section had become a bit of a center point for the local news, especially given the fact that right when she herself was entering the tenth grade, a handful of the residents in some of these lovely little homes were found completely butchered.

At first, she admitted, she didn't entirely believe it, yet a quick check of the newspapers had shown that indeed, some young people did indeed die along this very road in these very homes. She couldn't exactly remember too much, if not since as soon as she tried to get a copy for herself to read, there were no more copies left (or someone had intentionally taken them all each day she tried to get one), yet from what she had heard, apparently it was believed that the boyfriend of the first victim, Terra or Tina somebody, had killed her and in turn, hung himself in his cell to escape sentencing.

After that, talk died down for a bit, if not mainly due to the teachers and other members of authority discouraging or outright scolding those they caught spread such things. Talk continued, of course, but mainly in secret, Vanessa only catching brief snippets here and there as her own scheduele was steadily becoming more and more busy as well as her preparing for a job interview in that span of time. Yet still, from what she knew, it was a closed case. They had their man, he up and offed himself, so there was nothing else to worry about.

At least until the Lantz kid, that was.

That got everyone talking, the school's reprimanding not deterring those spreading the news one bit. Especially given that, according to them, his parents found a deep hole in his mattress where seemingly a geyser of blood shot out of, covering the entire room in his own fluids and leaking through to the first floor of the house. Vanessa outright declared the account bullshit at first, such things clearly being both improbable AND impossible. Granted, the fact that they supposedly never found his body was somewhat of an odd, if not unnerving prospect, yet that far from meant that something like…that occurred.

Remember the burning windows.

And while there was nothing to say that she did or didn't have anything to do with it, his neighbor was supposedly having a bit of a psychotic episode since the death of the first victim, who just so happened to be her best friend. Not to mention that not long after the death of the Lantz kid, her mother, the Lieutenant's wife she believed, had somehow burned to death in her own bed.

Remember the burning windows.

After that, the Lieutenant apparently moved out to the outskirts of town, his daughter having been sent to some nut house somewhere else. At least from what she had heard, the place wasn't in Springwood. Regardless, since then, the Lantz and Thompson residence across the street (as well as the Gray's) had been left unoccupied and vacant since then, the homeowners association desperately wishing to have, ideally, a happy and readily naïve, nuclear family come into them, so the entirety of the horrid ordeal could be forgotten. Forgotten…just like the town house fire.

Remember the burning windows-

Vanessa shut her brown eyes and forcibly stopped her bike, hand rising to her temple and a low groan escaping her throat. "Damn." She audibly cursed, no one around just yet to even hear her.

What the hell was she even doing, thinking about such things? Things that she bore no witness to and that had occurred years ago? It was ridiculous! Absolutely ridiculous! Besides, while yes, a body was never found, and the Thompson girl apparently insisted and outright proclaimed to the high heavens that one single individual was responsible for everything, from her friend to her mother, what good did pondering about it now do? She was clearly during an extreme crisis as she's currently residing in some funny farm!

"Must be just getting back into the swing of things." Vanessa declared, settling on that explanation, as pondering anything else would've made her just as insane as that Thompson girl.

Granted, while she was still under the impression that she was out of her mind, Vanessa couldn't exactly say whether she was lying. From the murmurs and bits of information she had heard those couple of years ago, despite her rambling, her story stayed mainly consistent. And, from what she understood, there was no proof in her favor, and no proof against her either, especially in the case of her mother's rather bizarre death.

There was another name too, spoken in whispers amidst the halls of school that year. Someone that Vanessa had never heard of up until that point, nor did she really get time to delve into it further, yet like the Thompson girl, Nelly or Nancy she thought (though she was leaning more towards the latter), some tenth graders insisted that the culprit of the rash of inexplicable murders were the work of some unseen, restless specter. Whether a ghost or some sort of bloodthirsty demon, the story changed depending on whom she caught the story from (though she herself outright stated she wasn't interested), yet there were a few specific details that always remained consistent with each telling of the supposed 'killer ghost'.

And while Vanessa's mind was rather barren regarding said details due to the preparation for more important matters (especially that job interview), it wasn't completely vacant.

'A hat.' She recalled to herself. 'A dirty, old, brown hat. Bowler hat? No, no. It was something else. Something like in those old 40s movies- '

Her eyes traveled around, the red-haired girl stopping for a few moments; if just to see what she had caught sight of was real.

Vanessa had intended to pass right by it initially, as for the most part, since that time, the houses along the street remained relatively unchanged for a good year or so. And since then, she had gone down Elm Street, five days a week, passing by a string of ivory colored, well kept suburban homes, the sight of the vacant home with bars on the windows as she passed, the 'For Sale' sign having taken permanent residence in the overgrown yard.

Vacant…for sale…she then realized why she had stopped to do a double take.

The 'For Sale' sign had been promptly covered, 'SOLD' taking its place in bold, red letters, with said sign being planted right in the fertile, green yard of 1428 Elm Street.

Vanessa looked long and hard, wishing to make sure that indeed, this wasn't just some hallucination she was experiencing. The sign had yet to change, and from what she could see, the yard had finally gotten itself a long overdue mowing. Though the bars still remained, still giving the once idyllic home the sense that the entire abode was nothing more than some giant cage to keep its unfortunate inhabitants in.

Or maybe to keep some malicious intruder out.

Hm, that was a rather odd sentiment, she thought. What would there be to keep out? It was something off-putting to Vanessa, yes, especially given both the state and history of the house, yet those were just elements she had associated with the place. It didn't necessarily make it so. The fact that someone (who, she had no idea) had indeed purchased the home was just a bit jarring because it broke the familiarity she had become accustomed to.

It meant nothing. This sudden, painful weight of dread that began to develop in her chest meant nothing either. It wasn't indicative of some sort of foul omen set to soon befall her. To befall them all…

"Bullshit." She hissed to herself, shaking her head and once again beginning to pedal her way down the street.

Yes, that's all it was. Bullshit, nothing but absolute bullshit. There was no reason for her to be so antsy about it either. In fact, it was a good thing someone finally decided to move into that damned place! It'd probably make Elm Street a little less creepy, as well as help to dispel some of the other rumors about this place. Rumors that Michael and other impressionable younger kids didn't need to be hearing at all.

It was a good thing. Yes, it was a very good thing.

Of course, if that were the case, and Vanessa declared it as such, why was it then that she found herself struggling to believe that to be the truth?

 **Back at the Townhouses**

His white sneakers impatiently tapped the concrete sidewalk below him, the chilled air of early morning making him begin to fumble around and pace back and forth to keep himself warm. True, later, Michael would be grateful he had a short sleeve shirt on (even if it was one of his sister's, gender neutral looking or not, he was still wearing 'girl's clothes'), but if not for the fact that she was about to arrive, he would've gone right back into the house and snag a jacket.

Where in the world was she-?

BEEP BEEP!

"Mike! Hey, Mikey!"

Whirling his head around, the sight of a slick, smooth Ferrari pulling up by sending the boy running in its direction. To any potential observer, it was very possible to assume that this young child was running straight in the incoming vehicle's path, yet as the polished, wonderfully kept car began to slow down, it became clear that the boy knew good and well what he was doing, as well as whom the high-priced vehicle belonged to.

"Hello, Michael!" the driver greeted, a middle-aged, fair skinned woman with a full, brown perm that was indicative of the time and a vibrantly colored blouse of blue, shoulder pads and all, was indicative of her (or her husband's) income. At least that's what Vanessa had once said about the woman, and while she had insisted it was nothing more than an observation, Michael couldn't help but detect a twinge of envy in her voice. Why exactly, he didn't know, and when he tried to inquire her about it, she simply told him he'd get it when he was 'older'. "Honey?"

"Hey, Mike! You still with us?"

The young boy shook his head, banishing the remaining traces of his stupor. "Y-Yeah. Sorry, Mrs. Warner."

The woman, Mrs. Warner, simply smiled back. "Don't worry about it." She assured, gesturing for Michael to go on the other side of the car. "Bradley hasn't even finished his breakfast yet."

"Yeah, because eight is still too early to start school!"

Michael had no debate about that. He didn't care what Vanessa told him about him having extra time compared to her. To him, there would NEVER be a time where school started at just the right time. Walking over to the left side of the Ferrari and opening the door, the boy promptly sat himself down beside another boy just around his age, his hair a far lighter and fairer brown and coated in a light coating of hairspray to keep the stray strands of his cowlick from going all over. His attire was rather simple compared to that of his mother's: a white undershirt with a green, short-sleeved vest and jeans, black converse shoes finishing his outfit. And just as the woman in the driver's seat had said, the other boy was gobbling down the last of a piece of toast smothered in marmalade, finishing the moment the car began to move again. Michael grew a bit concerned when it seemed the chewed-up pieces of toast got caught in his throat, yet thankfully, whatever danger that had been present quickly passed as the boy successfully swallowed down the last of his meal.

"Hun, I told you, don't eat so fast! You'll choke yourself!" Mrs. Warner chastised her son, the boy in question rolling his eyes.

"Wouldn't have to if they'd just start school later." He whispered to Michael, the more wild-haired boy nodding.

Despite the early hours, Mrs. Warner's morning rides were a God-send for the young boy. His father's work schedule meant that he almost constantly had the car for the day, and while Vanessa had her bike, their schools were miles apart and one of them was guaranteed to be late (mainly her, seeing as she would have to be the one to drop him off). A couple of phone calls from the High School alerted his father of the problem, and when Michael had let it slip to Bradley, he had managed to work it out to where his mother would swing by and collect him, bringing both boys to the Elementary and Middle School buildings.

"So," he began, the dreaded trip back to the horrid prison of forced education having officially started. "You got Mrs. Myers for Mathematics?"

Michael groaned. If there was ONE thing he wasn't looking forward to this year, it was having to tolerate that old, haggard witch's presence again. "Yeah." He confessed. "Even worse, she's in league with Dad and sis this year."

"Not saying I blame you, Mike, but you knew well that you couldn't hide skipping your homework forever."

"Speak for yourself, Brad." Michael shot back, adjusting his bag. Yet it was then that a particularly clever idea struck him. Well, clever to a boy his age. "You know," he began. "From what I saw last year, you were pretty good with math."

Bradley proudly puffed his chest out. Granted, this so-called grasp on the subject was mainly due to the after-school tutoring his parents had shoved him into, yet with how it saved him from summer school last year, there was at least some good in it. Maybe. He'd still never get those hours of perfecting his score at Berserk, having lost his place at the top months ago, and last time he checked, there'd be no way he'd catch up now.

"Yeah, and no."

"Thanks, man. I knew you'd…wait, what?"

"You heard me. No."

Michael couldn't believe what he was hearing. What did he mean 'no'?!

"My folks found out I was letting you copy, and if I ever want to try and get my high score back, let alone set foot in the arcade again, I can't let you see one word of any of it. Especially math."

While Bradley appeared to be far from pleased in delivering such news, Michael wasn't entirely convinced that somewhere, he was finding his situation somewhat funny, his quick fix and for sure plan to pawn off him down the drain.

"Though," Bradley spoke up again, voice low and just above a whisper. While his mother never really listened to his and Michael's conversations, he didn't want to risk taking the chance. "That's only if they manage to catch me doing it. And if I tell you HOW to do it, that wouldn't really be me simply letting you copy, right?"

If it wasn't for the fact that the other boy wanted this little exchange to be as secret as possible, Michael thought he might've leapt out of his seat and praised the high heavens at receiving such news. Deliverance from the underbelly of Hell that was Mathematics Class!

Maybe this year with Mrs. Myers wouldn't be so bad after all.

 **Springwood High School**

Here he had been thinking that the possibility of ever riding to school would never happen to him again, yet lo and behold, he sat. Idle and alone, yes, but he was still there. Though this indeed meant the regular responsibilities of homework and notes were brought into his life again, he was thankful for their annoyances, in a sense. At least it gave him the comfort that his life was getting back on track.

'Wonder if Mrs. Myers is still teaching Mathematics.'

No, he couldn't afford to let memories of that time surface. Granted, the moment he entered the seventh grade, Mrs. Myers had been but a distant memory, growing even more distant by the time he had even left Springwood, yet Robert still thought it too much of a risk. Not unless he was willing to risk it happening again. His mental practice sessions were being tested due to the sudden change, but he knew that he couldn't afford to falter. Dr. Quinn had put her confidence in him, and allowed for his life to resume itself. Yes, that was it; his life to resume, and to continue…while still alive.

"Hey, you alright there?" Speaking of Dr. Quinn, her voice brought him back to reality, as well as the sight of the large, brick building before him.

"Yeah." He answered, though his certainty was wavering. It was somewhat pathetic (if not entirely so), being intimidated by a school of all things. At the very least, he knew this school wasn't what had hurt him, aside from exams and those damned standardized tests. "Just peachy, Doc."

Her brow furrowed, taking a moment to adjust her glasses. He clearly wasn't fine, yet unfortunately for her, time restrictions had recently become a factor in both of their lives. She had to be at the office in a few minutes, registration already complete, yet she had yet to even get to setting up her office yet! "If you say so." She replied, there being little else she could say. Besides, there was always the option of talking later.

Making his way out of the Chevrolet, Robert stopped for a moment, fully taking in the expansive, brick building before him. God, it had been so long…

"Take it slow, now." Dr. Quinn called out, pulling out of the parking lot and leaving the young man on his own.

Yes, that was it; his life to resume, and to continue…while still alive.

That would begin now. Tossing his backpack's loose straps over his shoulders, melding in with the rest of those adding to the population of students attending this morning. He moved forward, the building of brick before him collecting its soon to be regular occupants, he felt his leg unexpectedly give way from under him, his knees hitting the ground and forcing his hands to extend outward to support himself. Looking behind him upon the growing sound of snickers and snide comments at his 'trip', he cursed himself upon seeing that he didn't even notice the risen concrete separating the school grounds from the road.

"Hey, you okay there?"

* * *

While her initial stop was supposed to be the bike racks stationed in the parking lot, the sight of seeing the young man fall forced her to an immediate stop, if not because he fell right in front of her. From the looks of him, he certainly didn't fit the image of someone tripping over themselves, his shoulders broad and hair giving off the air of time-period 'coolness' that'd probably die in a few years or so, yet from the looks of it, he seemed just as surprised by his little tumble as she was.

"Y-Yeah." He immediately answered, practically leaping to his feet and brushing off his black, collared t-shirt, blue eyes meeting hers. Yeah, REAL nice start back to a normal life here. Not a few minutes into his first day of the twelfth grade, and here Robert succeeded in getting himself run over by somebody's bike.

"You sure about that?" the red-haired girl questioned. This guy was more than just a little spacy. Hell, from how he was looking, he was looking at the school as if it were one of the most majestic, awe-inspiring works of art he had come across. Why exactly was a mystery in of itself, yet that wasn't her main concern. "Your legs working alright?"

"Fine." He assured, he evidently more than a little uncomfortable in having drawn attention to himself like this. "Just fine. Sorry about that."

"Yeah, well, watch where you're going, cause…" whatever else she had told me faded off into the collective swarm of voices as Robert quickly made himself scarce, practically sprinting up the white stairs and though the doors of the large building.

Far from the politest of gestures, yes, and he suspected that whomever his near hit-and-runner was had just gotten a not so flattering first impression. Regardless though, now, the broad chinned, brown haired older teen had more important matters on his mind aside from potentially offending anyone.

The fact that he was here again…here, amongst a cluster of other young people of this town, all of which seemed more than a little eager to get through the halls as fast as humanly possible, the tensions and fears he had kept at the forefront of his mind regarding the possibilities of what would've potentially happened today began to dissolve and shrivel up. Not entirely, yet still, the decrease from what they had been was quite a good deal.

'The obituaries are right.' Robby began to recite to himself, making his way down to his homeroom, wherever that happened to be. Given that most of the room numbers were in the 200s, he'd have to do a bit of traveling to make to 234. All the better, the trip would give him all the time he needed to prepare. 'You saw them yourself…and Doc…she would know all about that. And…and the last two years had been quiet. So far. There…there's nothing to worry about.'

Yes, nothing indeed. His own experiences, granted, were nothing to be dismissed, Dr. Quinn having made this clear to him multiple times during their sessions, yet the events that lead to his current dilemma had to be separated from the figure he had assigned to be the cause of it all. It had been the only thing keeping him from being committed.

He wasn't real. Well, he was, technically, but not in the sense of what he had thought. He couldn't still be around, not to do all of that. Even if Robert himself was partially responsible-

No!

He shook his head rapidly, banishing the beginnings of that sentiment from his mind. Oh God, why did he say yes to even coming back? He hadn't been here for more than a few weeks, and just walking into school had him beginning to come apart!

'You're enjoying this, aren't you, you bastard? Wherever you are…' he paused for a moment, reclining against the locker that just happened to be nearest to him. 'At least, you would, if you were even real.'

"Hey, you mind?" a voice cut through his thoughts, he suddenly becoming aware that he had just blocked the way for someone to get by.

"Sorry, man." Robert apologized, rising from his leaning position and making his way down the hallway. Besides, what the hell was he doing anyway? He had somewhere he needed to be as it was. Things to do…things to probably go out and grab from the supermarket and things to study for in just a few weeks or so. All of which didn't have room for 'him' to intrude on.

Yeah, for now, all of this would do him good. He was okay with this. In fact, he was almost glad in some way.

'What about after all that? What then?'

He silently cursed. It was inevitable, the question having lingered and gnawed at the back of his mind the very moment it was announced that he and Dr. Quinn were moving to Springwood. Granted, the prospect of him coming back to this place had, to an extent, always been something he considered. Not desired, not by a long shot, but it was still a possibility that demanded to be acknowledged. Luckily for him, all the time he had from Springwood, as well as the few weeks before they officially made their move, had given him time to prepare. Indeed, being in the psychologist's care had given him access to a great many deal of reading material, a good portion of which he could've sworn was placed there especially for him to discover and more importantly, devour. In fact, if it weren't for the contents of those very things still being at the forefront of his mind, he would've NEVER considered setting foot in Springwood, his guardian's employment and housing situation not even being large enough determents for him to change his mind.

And while Robert didn't' know if he could say he was adequately prepared, he could at least attest to the fact he was in a far better position then what he had been in before. Not that it would happen, he told himself. Not that he would have to put his knowledge to actual use, because there was nothing to use it against. Yet still, he was prepared all the same.

Yet he hoped, he prayed that it wouldn't come to that. And if things continued at the rate they were going, perhaps it wouldn't.

Perhaps all of this, maybe, just maybe, wasn't him signing his own death warrant.

 **Note: It's somewhat shorter than most of my chapters, being only around 7,500 words, yet given this is one of my shorter works, I'm taking a more relaxed approach with this one. Plus, being there are word limits to where it's being cross-posted, I have to keep that in mind too.**

 **As with last time, in the 'what if' scenario of this being a movie (I hope that doesn't sound too arrogant), I envision Vanessa as Molly Ringwald and Michael as Fred Savage, and maybe Bradley as Corey Feldman, even if he's more of a minor character in this. Haven't really considered his mother though.**

 **Feedback is welcome and appreciated! Thank you!**


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